


Realignment

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Lead me to your door [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, but not much of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: After the events in the previous story, Athos and D'Artagnan escort Anne (Milady) to safety, and enjoy a little time to themselves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't very kind to Milady, because she's not in a happy place. I'm not otherwise trying to slam the character.
> 
> Also, if you were looking for a smut-fest, sorry :)

Athos didn’t want to stay up talking with his friends that night. He was exhausted, and had to leave at daybreak with d’Artagnan to ride to the nunnery where Anne had sought refuge. But none of them were in a fit state to drink into the night, so, as Athos announced that he was heading to bed, Aramis slung his arm around Porthos’s shoulders. “We should get some rest too.”

“Yeah. Since we’ll have to carry double the load while these two shirkers are having a nice long holiday by the sea.”

D’Artagnan gave Porthos the fig. “I think I earned it last night.”

“Yes, you did,” Athos said. “Gentleman, I’ll see you in two weeks or so.”

“Let me walk with you,” d’Artagnan said. “I have a couple of things I want to clear up before we leave in the morning.” Athos remembered then that d’Artagnan had conducted an affair with Constance under her husband’s nose for some time, and was thus somewhat practiced at subterfuge.

Athos led the way to his room quite casually, not giving any indication of the sudden stiffening in his loins, or the rapid beating of his heart. But as soon as they were in his room, the door securely barred, d’Artagnan pushed him against the wall and kissed him, hard. Athos dug his fingers into the lad’s hips, holding him tight and closer, seeking with his tongue to find the essence of d’Artagnan. D’Artagnan rubbed against him in a maddening fashion, and Athos realized he would come in his clothes if this continued.

He pushed the lad away, though he still held him by his shoulders. “We can’t do this here.”

“I know. I just didn’t want to go to bed without kissing you again. Telling you I love you again.” His shining eyes, his happy face lit a fire in Athos’s cold heart, and brought it to life.

“Then you have done what gives me great joy, and what I’ll do for you whenever I can.” Athos cupped his cheek. “You understand this is dangerous. Treville will turn a blind eye unless we’re particularly blatant, but the cardinal has spies and all of them would delight in giving him the perfect excuse to hang both of us.”

D’Artagnan nuzzled against Athos’s hand. “I’ll be careful. I’m still getting over the shock that you care for me too.”

“Even if I didn’t desire you, I would always care for you. Have I not made that clear to you over these many months?”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Of course. How could I mistake the shouting and the sparring and working me into the ground and the insults and the jokes for anything else?”

Athos shook his head. “I do _not_ shout at you. I don’t need to. The rest...is a form of love.” But even Athos had to smile at his own words. “Highly educational love.”

“I will always enjoy being educated by you, _monsieur_.”

Athos patted the cheek he’d been caressing. “Enough of that. I feel old enough as it is. Get some sleep. We leave at dawn, and it’s ten miles to the nunnery. Are you sure you’re fit?” He touched the side d’Artagnan had been favouring.

D’Artagnan didn’t pull away, though he winced slightly. “Quite sure. Aramis is going to give me clean bandages and a salve to put on it.”

“But it’s not too painful.”

“I’ve had worse.”

Athos frowned. “Answer me honestly. I won’t have you hiding injuries or downplaying them.”

“Because that’s _your_ job.”

“You’re impossible. I’m still waiting for your answer.”

“It’s sore, but I have had worse. I’m fine to ride.” D’Artagnan slung his arms around Athos’s neck. “But if you had to stop earlier than usual because Milady has to rest more than we do, I’m not going to complain. Or insist we share a room with her.”

“We won’t be, I promise.” He leaned in and kissed d’Artagnan on the cheek. “To bed. Alone.” D’Artagnan pouted. “You’re going to be a brat, I can tell.”

“Always. Sleep well, Athos.”

******************************

Pre-dawn gave them just enough light to load their saddlebags and weapons. If anyone saw d’Artagnan bumping his hip into Athos from time to time or Athos touching his back as they passed each other, no one would have thought it unusual. “Are you well rested? How’s the injury?” Athos murmured as he passed d’Artagnan again.

“Yes, and it’s okay. Pulling a bit. I have the supplies.”

“Good.” And that was their last exchange before they rode out of the garrison, posing as a chevalier and his valet. Anne would join them as Athos’s sister. Athos had borrowed a doublet from the captain and a hat from Aramis, and d’Artagnan wore his usual clothes except for the pauldron, with a more ornate cloak than the one the Musketeers provided.

They rode reasonably hard for an hour and came to the small nunnery that Aramis had found for Anne to take refuge. The nuns made them welcome and invited them to join them for breakfast, an offer Athos saw no reason to refuse. Anne joined them while they ate bread, butter and cheese. “I’m relieved to see you survived, d’Artagnan.”

D’Artagnan pointedly ignored her. “I think you forget you are no friend to either of us now, Anne,” Athos said. “Sit and eat, but be quick. Is your horse ready?”

She sat down. “Of course. And what name do I bear for this mission?”

“Marie de Haute Montagne. I am Jean-Robert, Chevalier de Haute Montagne, and this is my valet, Charles.”

“Ennobled at last.” She cut herself some bread and ate it with relish. “And his eminence?”

“Unlikely to trouble the lady in question again. Why aren’t you going to New France?”

“Because the people there are the salt of the earth and I’ll look like I’ve come to run their new bordello. I have no wish to be forced into that role.”

“You might have mentioned this while I was arranging passage.”

Her expression didn’t change as she cut more bread. “I didn’t know then.”

Athos snorted in derision. So long as she stayed out of France, it was her headache, not his.

The nuns promised to pray for their safety as they travelled, though only d’Artagnan appreciated it. Athos left them a decent donation for their hospitality. “They live pretty well here,” Anne said as they climbed onto their horses.

“Becoming a nun _was_ one of your options.”

“Can you really see me taking the veil? Really?”

Athos rolled his eyes. “Can we get moving?” d’Artagnan said, frowning at the both of them. In answer, Athos kicked his horse into a canter and led them out through the nunnery’s gate.

The morning was damp and cold, and discouraged talking. Athos hoped to travel twenty-five miles that day. Their journey would be punctuated differently from when they escorted Bonnaire, to avoid being recognised as Musketeers. There was a risk Anne might be recognised too, but she had pulled her hair back severely, removed all jewellery, and wore simple woollen clothes, much as she had when she still lived in Pinon, and was not so likely to be recalled as Milady de Winter.

For form’s sake, Athos had to ride at Anne’s side, with d’Artagnan behind. This suited neither man, but Anne paid no attention to the sulking. She rode as hard and fast as either of them, and pretended that they were all good friends when they stopped for food or to relieve themselves. It amused to her to twit d’Artagnan, teasing him about being a servant to them both, and if Athos had not just spent an intensive period training the lad in controlling himself, he would have expected him to snap at her or storm off. All he did was ignore her, or, when she demanded he help her mount, did so with an elaborate bow that was pure sarcasm incarnate.

“Must you?” Athos asked her as they stopped mid afternoon for a brief break.

“Surely he can stand a little mockery.”

“D’Artagnan risked death to save your skin two nights ago. He’s not your plaything.”

She widened her eyes. “Good God, Olivier. You really are smitten, aren’t you?”

He refused to react. “All you’re doing is erasing any fond memories I once had of you, and making me fail to regret their loss. If that’s the legacy you want, by all means keep tormenting the two of us.”

“You’ve made it clear what you think of me, _brother_. Why should I care if you remember me well or not?”

Anne's expression was hard, but Athos knew her well enough to know that was all façade. “This journey can be easy or unpleasant, as you choose. You won’t drive either of us off because we have a duty to our captain. Learn to be civil to both of us.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but Athos kicked his horse into a brief gallop, and signalled to d’Artagnan to catch up with him. “What’s going on?” the lad asked as his horse drew level with Athos’s own.

“Anne needs a lesson in manners. Since I can’t make her shovel shit, I’m ignoring her until she apologises to you. She had no business treating you the way she is.”

“I can cope with her.”

“You shouldn’t have to. It’s nothing but spite, and if she’s going to behave like a spoilt brat, she can be treated as one.”

“She wants your attention. Teasing me obviously got it.”

Athos tilted his head at d’Artagnan’s perceptiveness. “Yes. But I don’t think she’ll care for it now she has it.”

“I wish I was alone with you,” d’Artagnan said quietly.

“Tonight. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

D’Artagnan grinned, then fell back behind Anne’s horse. Anne caught up with Athos. “Hatching your little plot together, are you?”

Athos ignored her completely. From then on, he rode in front of her, not beside, and D’Artagnan either kept behind or rode up with Athos. He regretted that this was necessary but he saw no reason for Anne to amuse herself by being unkind to the man Athos loved, or to himself.

They rode in silence for another two hours, before reaching the inn where Athos planned to stop for the night. He tossed Roger’s reins to the stable boy. “Bring our bags, Charles,” he called over his shoulder. Then with all the careless arrogance he remembered from his father, he strode into the inn. The innkeeper rushed up to greet him.

“I am the Chevalier de Haute Montagne. I need two of your best rooms. My sister will take the second room.”

“Very good, my lord,” the man said, bowing. “And supper?”

“If you have anything decent,” he drawled, though he would eat just about anything hot right now. “My sister will eat in her room.”

Anne heard him and was unhappy. “But Jean-Robert—”

Athos swept past her, ignoring her completely. D’Artagnan had their saddlebags. “Pay the innkeeper and take the bags to our rooms. Return here to eat.”

“Yes, my lord,” d’Artagnan said, perfectly politely. Athos almost grinned at the uncharacteristic submissiveness.

He went outside to stretch, and to visit Roger who was being brushed down by the stable boy. “I’ll do that,” he told the lad, who, doubtless being used to eccentric noblemen, didn’t argue. “Tend to our other horses.”

Touching Roger gave him a similar delight as touching d’Artagnan, though with the effect of calming rather than arousing him. Roger responded a little like d’Artagnan too, pressing into his hands and whickering a little with pleasure.

Once Anne....

Athos wished he knew what had turned Anne so cold and cruel. Simply the need to defend and support herself? Not being able to marry him? Or was that nature always there? He hated to think that could be true, but Athos couldn’t claim to be an impeccable judge of character. Despite Aramis’s scepticism, Porthos was better at that than either of them.

“Why are you sending me to my room?”

Athos refused to turn around. He kept on the long sweeping motions with the brush, concentrating on removing every last speck of dirt and road litter from Roger’s glossy coat.

“How can you be so cruel when we once loved each other so much?”

 _Ask yourself the same question_ , he thought. Though she had largely refrained from being cruel to _him_.

“What is it you want? An apology? Fine. I’m sorry for how I behaved.”

Still he kept silent. She would work it out.

But she didn’t continue. He heard the swish of her skirts and her footsteps as she returned to the inn. Had Anne’s upbringing really been so devoid of kindness? But she knew how to behave when it suited her. She was taking advantage of their situation, nothing more. Had their entire relationship been nothing more than her doing that all along?

He hated this. He hated that the only happy time of his youth was tainted, and now he would never know the truth. He could ask her, of course, and she could lie. He could choose to trust his own judgement, but it was far from reliable when it came to Anne. And asking any of his friends would be no consolation as they hated her—with excellent reason.

He sighed and set down the brush. “Goodnight, old man. You did well today.” He rubbed Roger’s soft nose, and left the stables. At least he had a congenial companion for the evening.

Anne was nowhere to be seen. “She’s upstairs,” d’Artagnan said as Athos sat down next to him. “And in a snit too.”

“Only to be expected.” He deliberately sat too close so he had to rub against d’Artagnan’s hip to move away. By the grin on d’Artagnan’s face, he knew exactly what Athos was up to.

D’Artagnan signalled to the innkeeper’s wife, who brought their meal over. Roast mutton and root vegetables, crusty bread, and drinkable wine. A veritable feast. “I could get used to this,” d’Artagnan said.

“Better not, but I admit to being glad of it tonight.”

D’Artagnan gave him a concerned look. “Are you unhappy because she’s leaving the country?”

“No, though I wish I was, if you can understand that. I’m not unhappy.”

D’Artagnan smiled and shook his head. “After all this time, I still can’t read you.”

“It’s intentional, and not personal. It helped to be opaque. Still does. Being open allows people to wound you too easily.”

“On the other hand, if they’re used to you being open, they don’t suspect you when you seem to be but are actually hiding something.”

Athos saluted him with the wine cup. “Quite so. Did you learn that in Gascony?”

“No, from Aramis. He does it all the time, but he’s so charming, no one realises he’s all front.”

“No one but me. But I’ve known him longer.”

“You and Porthos then. And me, but only because Porthos told me so I knew what to watch for. You, on the other hand.” D’Artagnan regarded him with a faintly puzzled look. “You seem to be hiding all the time, so people don’t realise when you’re actually showing your true feelings. Not that it happens very often.”

“I’m just not a demonstrative person. I envy you, how honest you can be.”

“You could start. But then people would die of shock.”

“Cheeky bugger.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Sorry, did you think I was going to become more respectful if we became lovers?”

“I do admire your valet act. Calling me ‘my lord’. Feels good.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

“No, no. If you do in front of Aramis, he’ll faint dead away.”

D’Artagnan looked down at his plate. “Um.”

“Um?”

“Um...I might have asked him for some advice. In a general sort of way. And he...um.”

Athos didn’t know whether to laugh or to yell. “Aramis _knows_? You realise that means Porthos knows too by now.”

“I didn’t tell him...until he asked. He doesn’t mind, he said.”

“Of course he doesn’t. He’ll be feasting off this for years.”

“Sorry.”

Athos patted d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “Never mind. It’s not the disaster it could be. I imagine it’s a relief to him after finding out about Anne.”

They took their time over their meal, because they’d had little time to talk that day. But there were other things Athos wanted to do this evening so when he was done, he stood. “I’m going to retire.”

“I’ll join you, my lord.” D’Artagnan gave Athos the smallest impish grin as he said that. _Brat._

Up in their room, Athos locked the door behind them, and seized d’Artagnan by the hips. “I have wanted to hold and kiss you all day,” he said quietly, conscious of thin walls. “I have craved...oh shitting Christ!” Someone had knocked on the door.

D’Artagnan slid out of his grasp and signalled to him to open the door, but Athos didn’t. “Who is it?”

“Me.”

 _Bloody hell. Anne._ “I’m not talking to her,” he whispered. D’Artagnan nodded.

“I want to apologise to Charles.”

 _Now?_ She couldn’t have had her Damascene moment ten minutes earlier? He heaved a sigh and unlocked the door. She stood there with her eyes downcast. “Come in.”

By his lack of expression, D’Artagnan was clearly less than thrilled at this. “Well?” Athos said to Anne.

“D’Artagnan, I’m sorry. I was spiteful today because...because I’m sad. I don’t want to leave, though I know I have to. I took it out on you.”

“Apology accepted,” d’Artagnan said in a flat tone.

“If that’s all?” Athos said to her.

“No, I’d like to talk to you. You could come to my room—”

“No. Anne, we’re over. You know why.”

She clutched at his doublet, looking into his eyes. “You could come with me to England. We could start afresh. You said you would, once, remember? Please, Olivier. We have loved each other so long. Don’t let it end like this.”

He didn’t move. “It _has_ ended, by your own actions. I did not take this step lightly, Anne. It hurt me more than you can imagine. Let’s be dignified about this.”

“Oh yes, by all means. Let’s not make a _fuss_ ,” she snarled. “Destroy a relationship of over a decade, but let’s be so civilised about it.” She put her arms around his neck, but Athos still didn’t move, or change his expression.

D’Artagnan was the one who finally moved, grabbing her hands and hauling her away from Athos. “He said it’s over, Milady. Now please go. Athos and I have matters to discuss.”

“Get your damn hands off me.” She wrenched them out of his grasp. “Who are you to interfere in this?”

“Athos’s lover, or I would be if you hadn’t interrupted.”

She stared at d’Artagnan like he had grown an extra head. “You.”

“Apparently so.”

She turned. “Olivier, is this a joke?”

“You said yourself, I seem smitten. It’s true.”

Her eyes widened in apparently genuine shock. “You’re both sodomites?”

“I forget. Did we discuss who was the sodomite and who the catamite, d’Artagnan? It might be awkward if we turn out to have the same preference.”

D’Artagnan let out a snorted laugh, and Athos grinned, which only made Anne angrier. “You’re mocking me.”

Athos moved between Anne and d’Artagnan. “No, we’re not. D’Artagnan told you the truth. I wish you hadn’t forced him to be so blunt, but it’s true. We're over. I'll always be grateful for your love, and I'll always love you in some way. But I'm not _in_ love with you any longer, and you know why. How many times must I say this? Have you not humiliated yourself enough before me?” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t want this. I hoped we would part with...some semblance of civility and affection. Please don’t make me hate you. I can’t bear it if you do.”

She began to weep, wide-eyed, painfully. He pulled her into a hug, knowing this, at least, was not artifice. D’Artagnan gestured and mouthed, “Should I go?” but Athos shook his head. He felt sorry for Anne’s pain but if he was left alone with her, she would inevitably try to exploit that. She was fighting for his affection in every way she could. He understood that. But she had no hope of winning this battle.

“Come now, Anne. Calm down. We have a few days left together. Set aside your anger and we can be friends of a sort. In time, I would hope we can be true friends again.”

She pulled free. “If I can’t have you as my lover, why would I want you as a _friend_?” she spat. She drew herself up. “I would be your _enemy_ before I ever settled for that.”

“Then be my enemy, for you cannot be my lover.”

She turned and walked out, head held high. He couldn’t help but admire her willingness to fight for what she wanted, though he wished d’Artagnan hadn’t seen her degrading herself.

D’Artagnan closed and locked the door behind her. “Strangely, I know how she feels.”

“Constance didn’t reject you because of what you did, but because she’s married. It’s not the same.”

“It hardly matters what cause. Rejection feels the same.”

“I’m surprised you’re defending her, considering what she’s done to you.”

“I’m not defending her. I’m understanding her. That part of it at least. Not what she did to Ninon or the queen. Or to me.”

Athos put his arms around d’Artagnan’s hips. “After all that, I’m not sure I can make love.”

“I’d be surprised if you could.” He pulled Athos close. “But I can kiss you.” He demonstrated, to Athos’s intense pleasure. “And hold you. And sleep at your side. And love you, whether we’re having actual sex or not.”

They held each other and Athos let his young lover’s strength and warmth and generosity heal the wound Anne had just torn open in his heart. “I thought I could never love again. You know that, and yet here you are,” he whispered.

“And I thought I could never love you and Constance at the same time, and yet here you are.”

“We should talk about her.”

“Yes, but not now. Please?”

Despite Athos’s belief that his desire for sex had been killed for the evening, d’Artagnan’s gentle kisses, the way his hands slid inside Athos’s doublet and stroked over his skin through his shirt, the very presence of his young, beautiful body against him, was making Athos hard. He took d’Artagnan’s hand. “Come to bed,” he said, his voice rough with lust.

“Do you mind if I take my clothes off first?”

Athos rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course, sleep in your boots. That would make for such a comfortable night.”

D’Artagnan grinned and began to undress. This time they could strip to their small clothes because if there was one person on earth Athos could depend on to defend herself if attacked, it was Anne. They kept their weapons close at hand, but he’d fight naked if they were attacked in their room, just to have a little more intimacy with d’Artagnan.

The bandage around d’Artagnan’s chest reminded Athos that his injury needed tending. “Where are Aramis’s supplies?”

“Saddlebag. I’ll—”

Athos held up a hand to stop him. “Sit down.”

Aramis was their medic, but Athos was well practiced at tending to fight injuries, even ones he’d inflicted himself. He unwound the bandage over d’Artagnan’s shoulder, but the one over the wound stuck a little, so he dampened it and eased it off with care. To his relief it was long but not deep, though deeper than he wished, since he should not have hit d’Artagnan’s torso at all. A little closer to the centre, a little lower, and it would have hit a lung and d’Artagnan would be dead.

D’Artagnan touched his cheek. “Stop it. It’s over, and I’m not seriously hurt.”

“I made a mistake. My aim was off.”

“So what? Even Aramis misses.”

Athos clasped his shoulder but with his heart so full, words failed him. D’Artagnan smiled. “Let’s finish this, all right?”

Athos roused himself. “How did long Aramis say to keep bandaging it for?”

“A week or so. Until it feels comfortable with a shirt over it.”

Athos nodded, and spread the salve over the wound as gently as he could. D’Artagnan ran his fingers through Athos’s hair as he worked, turning the act of care into a mutual caress, and when Athos was done, D’Artagnan kissed him, his hands cupped Athos’s face. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“How’s the pain?”

“Hmmm, what pain?”

D’Artagnan reached for him again, but Athos batted him away. “Bandages.”

He threw the soiled bandages into the fire and wound a clean set around his lover’s chest, tying it careful so it wouldn’t come loose, or irritate d’Artagnan as he rode. “There.”

D’Artagnan got to his feet. “Now, where were we?”

Athos gave him a nudge. “Bed. Now.”

D’Artagnan lay on top of Athos like a blanket, and kept kissing him. Despite the cold weather, the room was warm enough with the fire that they had both shed their shirts, so they lay bare-chested against each other. Athos could stroke d’Artagnan’s long, smooth-skinned back, so lean and hard after months of endless work with the sword, sparring with Porthos, and riding. D’Artagnan’s cock pressed alongside Athos’s own, muscled hips close together. The friction and pressure was damn near to making him come. “Stop,” he said. “Lie beside me. I want to touch you.”

D’Artagnan rolled off, and pushed his breeches down off his hips. “Is this all right?”

“Yes.”

“You too.”

Athos took his breeches off entirely, and d’Artagnan did the same. Now there was nothing between them at all, and Athos could indulge his desire to touch and stroke d’Artagnan’s flat stomach, trailing down the line of dark hairs to the top of his pubic area. D’Artagnan’s cock bobbed in anticipation, but Athos was content to just look, at least for a few moments. “I don’t know how Constance could bear to let you go,” he murmured.

“Please don’t talk about her. It hurts.”

Athos turned and kissed d’Artagnan on the lips. “I’m sorry.”

D’Artagnan caught Athos’s hand and held it on his stomach. “It’s all right so long as I don’t think about it.”

“I have to ask...is this simply a reaction to her turning you away? I won’t be angry if it is—”

“No. Absolutely not. Athos, you’re too important to me as a friend to do that to you. I want you. I still love her, but I love you too, and you are free.”

“As free as it being completely illegal can allow at least.” He kissed the lad again. “I just had to know.”

“I understand.” He took their joined hands and placed them on Athos’s cock. “Perhaps we could....”

“No.” D’Artagnan stared in surprise. “I am your senior. I insist on going first.” He moved his hand to d’Artagnan’s prick, and his lover wriggled. Athos grinned. “Rank has its privileges.”

“I always...try...to be...obedient, sir.”

Athos stopped his cheeky mouth by kissing it, and using his hand to stroke d’Artagnan’s cock. He had no experience in this at all, jerking off someone other than himself, but he knew how to listen to a lover, their voice, their body, the shivers of their skin, the clenching of fingers on his back. And D’Artagnan was so easy to read because he hid nothing, no emotion, no reaction. Athos swore he could _taste_ d’Artagnan’s arousal, how close he was to coming. D’Artagnan was a song in polyphonic harmony that only Athos could hear.

D’Artagnan arched and came with a quiet sound that Athos swallowed in a kiss. “I love you,” Athos whispered.

He quickly wiped his hand on his discarded breeches, then D’Artagnan rolled and pulled Athos close, kissing him lightly all over his face, his throat. “No one’s done that for me before.”

“I thought—”

D’Artagnan’s mouth turned down. “She said it was a sin.”

“Ah. Fortunately, I no longer care about such things.”

“I do, but that's a teaching that makes no sense to me. I kill people in the service of the king, and God forgives that, but not the touch of my lover’s hand?” D’Artagnan’s hand slid between them. “Speaking of which, my lord lieutenant Athos sir, may I?”

Athos grinned. “You may.”

Unlike d’Artagnan, Athos knew what this felt like, but that didn’t make this any less exciting or delightful. D’Artagnan’s long, strong, calloused fingers were much more confident than Anne’s small, delicate hands in stroking his prick, and d’Artagnan knew better where a little more pressure would give a lot more pleasure, how to differ the pace, how to manipulate the foreskin just so. Athos had never cared about the orgasms so much, but the touch, the intimacy, the _kindness_ of being treated with care and attention. Caresses and hugs had been sorely lacking in his childhood, and if it hadn’t been for Anne, Athos would never have realised he needed them to live. He could make himself come. He couldn’t hug himself.

D’Artagnan was in no hurry to get the job done, and used his mouth on Athos’s lips and neck as much as he did his hands on Athos’s cock. D’Artagnan’s childhood had been full of affection, it was plain to see, and Athos drank of his generosity more gratefully than of any wine. When his stomach tightened and his hips jerked as he came, he was sorry, because it would mean d’Artagnan would stop touching him like that. But D’Artagnan had other ideas, and kept on holding his soft cock, kissing Athos as hungrily as before, as if he had deprived of physical comfort for years.

At last, Athos dragged his dirty breeches over for D’Artagnan to clean his hand with, and the lad got comfortable in his embrace. “I don’t think we’ve solved the sodomite-catamite question,” Athos murmured, and d’Artagnan laughed. “It doesn’t bother me either way.”

“Me either. But um...Aramis had some advice.”

Athos sighed. “Of course he did. I doubt there’s a sexual practice involving consenting adults he _doesn’t_ have an opinion on.”

“He...uh...there’s another pot of salve in my saddlebags. Not for the wound.”

“Do you understand that I’m not seeking to explore the encyclopaedia of sexual experience so much as I desire to have you close with me, holding me, touching me, for as long as life is granted to me?”

D’Artagnan buried his face in Athos’s neck, the arm across Athos’s chest tightening. “I want everything you can give me freely. I don’t care how you do it.”

“Then we want the same thing, and Aramis’s pot of salve can make its appearance or not, as we like. And we can always sleep together in the field without exciting any comment, just as Aramis and Porthos do.”

“I don’t think Aramis kisses Porthos, and I want to do that.”

Athos pulled the blankets over their head. “When the weather is cold and we are seeking warmth, who’s to know what happens under covers?” D’Artagnan laughed against his throat. “Sleep now. Let it be sweet for you.”

“And you, Athos.”

******************************

Anne was subdued and almost silent the next day, riding beside Athos but never coming close. He was sorry for her pain, however self-inflicted. He took no joy in seeing a proud woman beg, nor in a woman he loved being reduced to humiliating herself. In the evening he invited her to join them, but she went to her room without a word.

“You feel sad about her,” d’Artagnan said.

“I feel guilty about her. She was once my world. The taste of love turned to disgust is very bitter.”

“You didn’t make her do any of the things that turned you against her.”

“But should I have forgiven her? Is that not what love is? Unconditional acceptance?”

D’Artagnan shook his head, and his tone was certain. “Not as I see it. If you _can’t_ accept what she did, how can you force yourself to?”

“I feel I should. I _adored_ her. I would have done anything for her, except the one thing she wanted more than anything, which was to marry her. If I had done that, I could have prevented all this. At least, I could have stopped _her_ being the one to do it.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“My father. He insisted I had to marry within our class, and Catherine’s inheritance would add to our land.” Athos shook his head. “I’m ashamed that those considerations swayed me.”

“It was about him, though, wasn’t it? It was obeying him that mattered. Being a good son?”

“Yes. I only wanted to please him, do what he wanted.”

“What son doesn’t want to please his father?”

 _Thomas,_ Athos thought. “But I didn’t. It made no difference in our relationship. In our very last interaction, he mocked me for being a coward because I wouldn’t race him on a pregnant mare. Minutes later, he was thrown from his horse and died.”

D’Artagnan pursed his lips as if in sympathy. “Milady might have gone bad even if you’d married her.”

“No. She worked for the cardinal to be secure. I could have given her that without her committing these heinous crimes.”

“She had other choices.”

“Did she? Without a husband? If Constance left Bonacieux, what would she do, if her parents weren’t still alive?”

“I’d support her.”

“On your salary? I don’t think so. You have no house, you couldn’t afford to rent one or even an apartment big enough for two of you. You could die at any time serving the king, and what would she do then?”

D’Artagnan wouldn’t meet his eyes. “So what you’re saying is that I have nothing to offer her.”

Athos clasped d’Artagnan’s wrist. “You can’t offer her security. One can’t eat love and devotion, no matter what the poets would have us believe.”

“That’s why she decided to stay with him. My love wasn’t enough for her.”

Athos regretted bringing out the bitter tone in d’Artagnan’s voice. “Life isn’t fair,” he said gently.

“At least I have you.”

“You do indeed.” But was he enough? For both of them, a woman had been their first love, and it had only being rejected by those first loves that had led to the two of them coming together. If Constance changed her mind....

Then Athos would let d’Artagnan go, he decided. Constance could give d’Artagnan children. They could be married if Bonacieux died. Loving Constance would bring no shame, no risk of execution for sodomy. And no risk to one’s immortal soul, which d’Artagnan still cared about, even if Athos did not.

D’Artagnan would still be his brother. His dear friend, even if no longer his lover. Athos could bear that so long as d’Artagnan was truly happy with Constance, and he would be. She loved him, even if she protested otherwise. Furtive embraces and stolen caresses could not build that kind of happiness together.

“What?” d’Artagnan said, breaking into Athos’s miserable ruminations.

“What what?”

“Your expression suddenly went all sad again.”

“I have a naturally sad face,” he lied. “Is the food to your taste?”

“It’s good. I’m at risk of being spoiled.”

“You’ve earned a holiday. It’s been a particularly hard year for you, one way or another.”

“It’s been hard for all of you.”

“We’re used to it. You were wrenched from a safe, happy life by a hideous crime. Anyway, the captain ordered it. I wanted to take Porthos.”

“Really?”

“No. I’m afraid I was being greedy. Was that awful of me?”

D’Artagnan grinned. “I forgive you.”

The next two days followed a similar pattern. Anne kept aloof, d’Artagnan and Athos guarding her but not engaging her. The only brief excitement was an attack by three thieves as they approached Le Havre on their last day, but between Athos, d’Artagnan and Anne, the criminals were dealt with and despatched mere moments after drawing their weapons.

Athos and d’Artagnan could have loaded the bodies onto their horses and led them behind their own mounts, but that would have involved local magistrates, which Athos did not want. Instead, they removed the saddles and bridles and turned the horses loose, leaving the saddles by the bodies. The horses would end up at a farm, looking for equine company, and the farmer would bless his luck.

“I could have sold them with this one,” Anne said. “I could have used the money.” These were more words than she’d spoken in the previous three days to them.

Athos raised an eyebrow. “My apologies. Shall we chase them down?”

She pursed her lips and looked away. Athos didn’t feel like explaining his reasons, which she would understand well enough when she stopped to think about it.

Anne’s ship would not leave for two days, so the three of them would stay at an inn again until she boarded. Athos had to go to the docks and sort out the booking that Anne’s change of mind had complicated, but other than that, and selling Anne’s horse, he and d’Artagnan had only to stay out of sight and out of trouble. This was another reason Athos was glad he hadn’t brought Porthos on this trip. Or indeed Aramis. Both had low boredom thresholds, and were prone to starting fights if no other entertainment presented itself. On his own, Athos had a tendency to drink too much and become morose. D’Artagnan’s company was a pleasure in more ways than the obvious.

Athos told Anne to lay low, but she ignored that, going out in the day to do who knew what, and refused an escort. As far as Athos was concerned, she knew the risks, and could defend herself, so he didn’t argue.

“Do let me know if you intend to change your mind again,” he said. “Or to get yourself killed.”

She sniffed and walked off without comment. Athos shrugged and went to join d’Artagnan for breakfast.

******************************

At last it was time for Anne to board the ship to take her to Devon. She would retain her false noble identity, because it was safe to assume that unless she gave someone a very good reason to, no Englishman would bother to enquire if her noble connections were real so long as she carried herself correctly. Anne had always been good at that.

Her luggage had been placed on the ship, and all that was left were farewells. Athos had intended to be civil at the very least, to preserve her dignity, but that intention proved unjustified when, at the foot of the gangway, she turned to d’Artagnan, gave him a bright smile and held her hand out to him. D’Artagnan warily accepted. “Good luck, _madame_ ,” he said politely.

“And to you. You’ll need it when Olivier—sorry, _Athos_ —tosses you aside for a pretty face and a pair of open legs.”

D’Artagnan retrieved his hand, straightened his back, and turned away, walking a little away from them.

Athos shook his head at her sheer stupidity. “Congratulations, Anne. You’ve now exceeded the depths of my low opinion. Goodbye, and never cross my path again. I withdraw any offer of concern for your future.”

“Rest assured I think as well of you as you do of me.” She turned and walked up the gangway. Athos didn’t stay to watch her board.

He found d’Artagnan keeping out of sight behind bales of cloth. Athos put his hand on d’Artagnan ‘s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Are you all right?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. At least she made it easy to let her go.”

“A wounded animal lashes out. You removed her hope of regaining my affections, so she hates you.”

“I mourn for the loss of her regard,” d’Artagnan said straight-faced. ”Come on, we have friends in Paris, if not here.”

They retained their identities and disguise until their last day on the return journey. Until then, they relished every second together in their fake identities and liberty from responsibility. The nights were sweetly tender, but the days offered the pleasure of good company and easy riding. It was all welcome, and all too brief, so all the more to be treasured.

“If you returned to your estate, you could live like this all the time,” d’Artagnan pointed out after another delicious, hot meal at the last tavern they would stay in before Paris—the last before they had to revisit Serge’s inconsistent culinary efforts.

“You couldn’t join me. Or wouldn’t, I should say. That would remove all the pleasure from it. Besides, not only would I not have you, or Aramis, or Porthos, I _would_ have my dear, loving wife, her bastard and her lover to contend with. Rat stew for the rest of my life would be preferable to that.”

“Send her away, set up a lover, raise a family of bastards of your own?”

“And beggar them when I die. I would also point out that since you can’t bear me those children, where is this mythical lover to come from?”

“Ah yes, the flaw in my plan.” D’Artagnan smiled cheekily at him. “So I guess you’ll have to stay a Musketeer then?”

“Yes, I probably will. We could retire there, all four of us. Aramis could have the church to pray in, Porthos could wrestle with the stable boys to his hearts content, you and I could hunt in the day and...do whatever we liked at night.”

“Sounds perfectly dreadful,” d’Artagnan said, his eyes bright. “I couldn’t stand it for more than, say, twenty years or so.”

“Then when I turn fifty, we shall all retire to my estate together. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

The chances of any of them living that long were small, but there was always a possibility, and it was a pleasant thought, that La Fère could, at the end of his life, be a refuge and not a burden.

Anne’s diminishment in his eyes still ached, but as they drew closer to Paris, now back in uniform, Athos concentrated more on the fact that Richelieu had had the most thorough trouncing and was unlikely to be a threat to the Queen or the Musketeers again. Anne had helped in that, and at least she had been rewarded with safety rather than assassination. It was a happy thought on which to re-enter his normal life, his new lover and old companion at his side.

They arrived at the garrison just after dark. Once they had dealt with their horses, Athos and d’Artagnan ran up the stairs to report to the captain. “All went well?”

“Completely. I don’t think she’ll trouble us again.”

Treville regarded Athos suspiciously. “I should send you away more often if you come back looking this cheerful.”

“I’m merely glad to be back among my dear brothers-on-arms, sir.”

Treville made a face at the sentimentality. “The four of you are needed at the palace tomorrow. Go fetch some supper. Dismissed.”

“He prefers you grumpy, I think,” d’Artagnan said as they descended the stairs.

“He doesn’t like surprises, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“Hope not.”

Athos grinned. He rather hoped not either.

Aramis and Porthos had retreated to the mess, and greeted their errant brothers with hugs and smiles. It reminded Athos that he had found another family, one which he valued more and which valued him more than his real one had. “So she’s away safely then?” Aramis asked once they sat down and bowls of Serge’s infamous stews were put before them.

“One assumes. It’s up to the deity to look after her now.”

Porthos raised an eyebrow at Athos’s careless drawl, and Aramis clearly understood the reason. “Ah, so it wasn’t a pleasant interlude after all.”

“It was, apart from some unfortunate outbreaks of spite.”

Aramis looked at Athos, then at d’Artagnan. “She didn’t like the competition,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Something like that.”

“The cardinal’s been laying very low at the palace,” Porthos said. “Her majesty’s looking more beautiful than ever. Happy too.”

D’Artagnan lifted his wine cup. “Then here’s to her majesty’s health, and may she remain untroubled by traitors, liars, thieves, and murderers.”

Aramis lifted his own cup. “I’ll certainly drink to that.” After the toast, he sat back. “Now, tell us all about Le Havre.”

“Cold, wet, smelly, and full of boats. What more do you want to know?” Athos kept his expression entirely unreadable. He knew what Aramis really meant. Damned if he was going to satisfy his prurient curiosity in the middle of the garrison mess.

“Well, did you do anything exciting in the evenings?”

“We took the bandage off my wound,” d’Artagnan said brightly. “That was exciting, wasn’t it, Athos?”

Athos gravely inclined his head. “Indeed. And I do recommend that tavern. It’s near an excellent laundry.”

“I noticed the price of wine by the barrel was high again,” d’Artagnan said.

“Yes. But wool was down. I believe there was a fine load of paper arriving the day we left the city.”

Aramis hissed in annoyance at their play-acting, and Porthos grinned. “In other words, they ain’t gonna talk about here, Aramis.”

“Talk about what?” d’Artagnan said, his face a picture of innocence.

“I suspect Aramis is frustrated because we haven’t mentioned the latest shipment of silks and spices,” Athos said, equally blandly.

Aramis threw up his hands. “Fine. See if I give you any more advice, d’Artagnan.”

“As if you would ever be able to resist giving advice in the matter of wound dressing. Or at least, alternative uses for salves.” Athos stared wide-eyed at Aramis until his friend shook his head in disgust.

“You’re right. I can never resist sharing the benefits of my expertise with my injured and _innocent_ brothers.”

“Not so damn innocent if you ask me,” Porthos said, looking at the three of them and grinning like a mad thing. “Right, are we off to the tavern tonight or what?”

Athos smirked at d’Artagnan, then at Porthos. “I thought you would never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> The next story takes us into Season Two!
> 
> Comments, criticism, corrections and kudos craved :)


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